Perfect Imperfection
by ForeverInChains
Summary: On the eve of Sofia's wedding day to Prince Desmond an intangible need for escaping her destiny grips her heart. Having grown distant from her one-time dearest mentor she seeks to reaffirm their friendship and find solace in his council, only to discover he is harboring his own desires. Unabashed Cedfia.
1. Chapter 1-Perfect Imperfection

**Author's note:** I'm probably going to burn for all eternity for this, but here goes. Sofia is an **ADULT**. Repeat, an ADULT. 20 years old and about to be married. That kind of Adult. Forgive me for I have sinned.

Cover art used by permission of the artist.

In my mind this runs for three chapters. If I don't die of mortification and people seem interested I'll write the remainder whenever time and inspiration present themselves. Please don't hate me, if you don't like to read " **M** " rated material **DO NOT READ THIS**.

….

It was perfect.

The gardens would be done up exquisitely. The crystal tableware, the golden goblets, the intricate white laces lining the aisle. Amber had planned every single detail, down to the magically derived lilacs covering the ground. There would be enchanted roses falling from the sky, hovering stars at each reception table, and one dazzling magic show performed by the Royal Sorcerer of Enchancia. Exactly as a princess's wedding should be. Everything about Sofia's special day would be magical, except the groom. And that right there was the problem.

As the days passed and the date drew nearer, she felt a certain pull within her chest. An uneasiness that time, rest and spirits couldn't dull. Amber had dismissed the notion as distractive, her mother had reassured the girl it was simply pre-wedding gitters. After all, Prince Desmond was a handsome man from a respected kingdom, and he seemed to care deeply for her. She had thought him nice, but never one to be labeled as a true romantic she had simply believed those types of feelings were better left to those like Amber, who swooned in the night for some unrealistic perception of male perfection. But here she was, sweating through a restless night, pillows tossed and sheets turned down, not two days from her wedding.

He'd been avoiding her.

It started slow. A cancelled sorcery lesson, an extended trip to visit his parents. The distance had been growing steadily, creeping upon her unnoticed until one day they passed in the hall like lonely ships in the night. He had been mired in a spell book, and hadn't even looked up to greet her with his normal sarcastic address. She'd stopped dead in her tracks and watched the man continue onward. Somewhere along this path their lives had taken the special place their friendship held had fallen away. Now alone in her room with dawn fast approaching it seemed like the walls of society were closing in all around her, sucking the life from her body and the air from her breath. She rose and walked the halls, an aching need not fully realized gnawing at her psyche like a splinter in her brain. Breakfast, and more wedding plans. The castle was in full tilt. Not a minute to spare. Overwhelmed, she finally collapsed from the pressure building inside and was brought to her room for rest. But sleep would not come, and the uneasiness grew into a longing desperation. For escape. For release. For a satisfaction she may never know.

She needed to see him. To reaffirm their friendship. That, even though she was to marry and move away from this castle they would still remain the best of friends. But she couldn't escape to his tower. One step outside her door and the relentless march of wedding would consume her. She had been afforded the afternoon to rest though…

No one would suspect it. A conjured peasants dress. A magical tan upon her skin. Blackened eyes, and hair to match. She looked a traveling sorceress in the mirror's reflection. The perfect disguise to move unseen in plain sight. No longer cautioned by the Amulet of Avalor, its bequeathment rescinded upon her entrance into adulthood, and no longer advised by her cherished rabbit, long since passed to the great beyond she ventured out her door. Snaking through the halls, she was half way to the gardens and her quarry when the castle steward happened upon her.

"Excuse me Ma'am, are you here for the wedding?" Baileywick had caught her in his sights.

Eyes bulged, but her identity remained a secret. "You _could_ say that."

"Very well. Please come this way. What did you say your name was?"

A sideways glance, and an ill-thought out plan partially collapses. "Sssss... _Sasha_?"

"Very good then." An escort to the gardens, but he seemed unawares of her true identity. There stood Cedric, conjuring ill-shapen lilacs in the afternoon sunlight.

"Cedric, we have an early visitor. Her name is Sasha." The sorcerer's head turned, and the disgruntled man postured before them. His eyes were hollowed and cheeks slightly sunken, the pressure to perform obviously weighing on his psyche.

"Baileywick I haven't the time to widdle away the hours babysitting random interlopers who arrive a day early. I'm supposed to conjure an entire forest of flowers, not nannygoat a two-bit sorceress for the afternoon." Arms were crossed and his wand waggling in the breeze.

"Perhaps she can help you Cedric." A kindly smile from the steward, "I'll leave you here ma'am. Good day."

A quick nod to the steward, and a groan from the sorcerer. "Ugh, alright Ms... what was it again?"

A shy turn of the head. "Sasha."

"Sasha, as in _Sasha the Sorceress_? You're Serious?"

A nervous smile, "Um, yeah."

An eye roll, then suspicious glances. "You've got to be joking. Alright Ms. _SASHA_ , _if_ you can conjure lilacs you can stay. Otherwise I'm turning you into a centerpiece for this forsaken wedding."

He returned to cursing at the foliage, and sadness crept into the princess's heart. _Forsaken wedding_. He was staring at her, "I'm waiting Ms. _Stacy_."

A gentle giggle and the man was set on edge, "It's Sasha Mr. Cedric."

A sudden cough, and the sorcerer's head fell to one side. A step closer, then two, the fires of mischief visibly ignited within him. "So Ms. _Seraphina_.."

"It's Sasha Mr. Cedric."

"Oh yes yes, indeed it is. You _do_ carry a wand I presume? After all, every sorceress carries a wand." He circled like a vulture surrounding its prey. Had he figured her out? It was exhilarating, the feeling of being hunted. A little modern mystery right there in the gardens. What was the harm in letting the charade play out, if only for the afternoon? Nothing less than reaffirming a friendship in her mind's eye.

"Uh huh." Her wand drawn and lilac's conjured, the man grinned widely.

"Oh I see. Well then Ms. _Sarah_ , I suppose you can help me collect pollywogs down by the river. I need them for the centerpieces but I've been led to believe my normal apprentice is a bit tied up at the moment."

"It's Sasha, and sure! I'd love to help you out."

A stroll through the gardens, and a pair of dispositions lightened considerably. "Can you tell me Ms. _Samantha_ what pollywogs would be used for in a floatation potion? _Hmmmm_?"

A large grin, "It's Sasha Mr. Cedric, and that's easy. You need to collect the slime." A fire lit in his eyes.

Down by the river he laid against a tree, and began cleaving into a small book's pages. A confused princess watched the display, unsure of what to do. Had the mystery worn thin for him? Perhaps she should reveal herself.

"Mr. Cedric..."

"Well go on Ms. _Sabrina_ , catch the pollywogs. I myself am going to read under this tree for the afternoon."

A pouted lip and furrowed brows. "That's not fair."

"Oh it's not is it? Let me tell you what's not fair. Being forced to slave away, devoting my skills and energy to a wedding that should never happen, _THAT_ is the _definition_ of unfair."

What? The princess stood there, shoes removed and knee deep in the waters of the river while the impassioned sorcerer clutched at the grasses around him. "Why shouldn't the wedding happen Mr. Cedric?"

A gigantic huff, and robed arms were crossed by the royal sorcerer. " _Because_ , it's simply wrong. If you can stand there and tell me… _she_ … loves him, really and truly loves him with all the depth her soul can muster, then I'll say no more."

Arms fallen to her sides, there were no words of truth that could reaffirm that statement. A sarcastic chuckle from the angered man, "I thought as much, Ms. _Stella_. _She_ loved that old deceased rabbit of hers much more than the man whose supposed to lay beside her for all her days."

Pollywogs circled around her legs and she tapped their bodies along the top of his vial while bathed in the suns golden rays. The vial full, she moved to stand before him below the birch tree. "I collected what you needed Mr. Cedric."

He rose and took the vial from her shaking hand, wrapping his gloved fingers around her own. Perhaps their friendship was unmendable. His angered blistered forth, that even a stranger as she was so disguised would be privy to his displeasure at her life's choices.

A glance away, "I'm sorry Mr. Cedric. Maybe she doesn't know what to do."

"Oh, and why would that be? Don't tell me you've been married Ms. _SueEllen_."

An irritated glance back at the curious man, "It's Sasha, and no. I've never been married, but maybe she just feels like this is what's expected of her." A turn of the head to stare at the gentle rolling waves of grass and a minute to admire the quiet solitude of their surroundings as the gentle breeze blew her disguised hair about her shoulders.

He turned and started to walk off into the distance, away from the palace. Confused, the hidden princess called out to him, "Wait Mr. Cedric, where are you going? The castle is that way."

Stride halted, the sorcerer pivoted, that only half his face could be seen. "I suppose you could go back to the castle, if that's what you wish Ms. _Sybil_. All that really matters is what you wish after all. But then the afternoon will be over, the sun will set, and the march of time will bring forth tomorrow." He turned fully around to face her, " _Is_ that what you wish Ms. _Serafina_ , do you long for tomorrow?"

Her arms shook, but the truth could not be denied. "No."

A gentle smile from the sorcerer, and he stood waiting for her. Pulled forward by an indescribable force she slowly walked up to the man waiting for her in this field. An arm was extended, and they walked deeper into the meadow, and farther from time's cruel march toward her meticulously planned future.

Circling past a few trees, the riverbed came back into view. The sorcerer paused for a minute, drawing his wand. A half smile accompanied the devilish glint in his eyes, and before them he conjured a veritable sea of butterflies, each a different hue of the rainbow. Sunlight streamed through the trees, reflecting off their patterned wings, and it was as if they'd walked into the dazzling haze of perfect serenity. Awestruck, the disguised princess stood there, arms extended as butterflies of all shades landed upon her. She turned, overjoyed by the display before her to Cedric, who was smiling brightly at her reaction. "You're amazing Mr. Cedric."

The sorcerer closed his eyes, and invaded the personal space he afore granted so religiously. "Indeed, the compliment suits me. However, is it _enough_?"

"Is what enough Mr. Cedric?"

He shifted his stance, conjuring a rose that floated in the air. He took it in his hands, then gently extended the flower toward her. She took it into her hands, and it proceeded to change colors to match the varied hues of all the butterflies flying about the glen. "Is it enough to live within the roles we've been assigned Ms. _Savannah_? Does... _the princess_... want to live within the script of her life as written by others?"

"I don't know. Maybe she's always tried to be everything that people expect her to be. Maybe she's always felt the pressure to be the perfect princess, do what she was told, and never step out of line no matter how tight the walls constricted around her."

The wisps of his breath upon her ear. "So, you mean to tell me... _she_... doesn't want this fate, but feels compelled to see it through."

"I guess so. Maybe she doesn't even know what she wants, but can't escape the feeling of being trapped no matter how hard she struggles against it."

His arm had snuck around her, drawing the disguised princess closer to his frame. "So then, Ms. _Scarlett_ , does she long for things she shouldn't? Perhaps even, forbidden magic to transcend her reality."

She turned her face up to gaze upon him, and was met with longing in his eyes. "Yes."

His lips were soft. So gentle, so inviting, and with the distinct aftertaste of lemongrass. The kind he always added to his teas. One kiss became two, and then another, and then another. His hands found their way around her corset, gently gliding up her sides as if to measure every inch of her. A shifted stance and he'd fallen to one knee, taking her along with him and drawing her lengthwise up into his lap. A trail of kisses down her neck, and his eyes were screwed shut as if unable to look upon her newly exposed beauty. His hair looked so inviting, and small fingers wormed their way into it, running lengthwise along the sides of his two-toned tresses.

Soft lips upon her chest, and pleading whimpers to free her bosom from its prison. Lost in the ecstasy of freedom from the moral code, the charted path, the boundaries her reality sought to constrain around her she pulled her sleeves down and liberated the objects of his desire.

His gasps of pleasure at their manipulation set her body aflame, tingles running down her spine at his audible pleasure. His kisses trailed lower, and in turn her gasps echoed across the hillside as he orally worshipped her physical femininity.

His hands, ever trailing lower, then danced up the curves of her dainty legs beneath her conjured undergarments. Massages of his hands across her backside were given, the tension palpable as she gripped into his shoulders, curling her hands around them and digging deep into his shoulder blades.

One fluid rolling motion, and it was her turn to play submissive as he hovered above her wrapped in her tender embrace. All boundaries of pure friendship crossed, his hands sought out the heat of her sex while she made her lips dance along his freshly exposed shoulders, the loosening of his shirt an unspoken priority.

A gasp and eyes rolled back into her head as long thin fingers danced in places only husbands should explore, executing their performance art in desperate search of an ovation for their effort.

Ovations did come, as waves of euphoria coursed through her veins and cries of pleasure escaped her lips. He lingered in the moment he'd produced, grinning wildly at the feeling of her convulsions around his touch. But then he dove into her with kisses, desperate in their need, longing with each drawn breath, whimpers in the afternoon breeze of an animalistic urge long unfulfilled. The gentle graze of his cloaked essence parted the guardians of her temple, this simply, torturous agony. Hands searched across her partially exposed skin, passionate kisses were strewn along her clavicles. Begging, pleading, yearning desires unspoken reigned supreme as the gate to her temple was put upon.

That he might be the one to fulfill himself upon her altar was all she cared to think of or acknowledge, that in this perfect moment society and obligation were nothing, reason a trifle by comparison.

A deep moan of satisfaction from his lips, and the walls of her temple were breached. Their folds parting like waves upon the rocky shore to make way for his spear. The agony of rupture with the ecstasy of his delight, vociferous and ringing loudly through her ears upon the isolated hillside.

Instinct drove him onward, the need for fulfillment devouring their reason. Words finally escaped his lips.

" _yes_." He danced inside her between the moans.

" _Yes_." She clawed at his back underneath his silken vestments while drawing him deeper within.

" _YES_." His face contorted and breath quickened along with his pace.

"YES!" A deep need to smother her face into his shoulder took hold, and she screamed her newly found pleasure into his skin, the reverberations of her release shuddering around him.

"OH YES!" His hips buried themselves into the softness of her inner thighs, and a deep groan of primal satisfaction emanated from him as his spear quivered inside her.

...

"Sofia."

...

He'd uttered that name and despite that wonderful, euphoric, ephemeral nature of the moment reality came crashing back in. She was set to marry in less than a day, to a man who was most assuredly not the one pulsing his seed inside her. Panic at what might happen gripped her. She would let down her family, her friends, everyone that mattered in this world she'd tried so desperately for so long to please. She would be the pariah, stigmatized and labeled a failure. Without a word she retracted her hips and wiggled away from his spent phallus. For his part it took Cedric more than a few moments of gasping for air to realize she was fleeing his arms. "Wait, WAIT! I'm sorry I said _that_ name, I-" She hadn't even taken the time to reassemble her undergarments and was running back toward the castle. She managed to slip her exposed top half back into its place and flew back to her room undetected. Being cloaked in an unfamiliar face had distinct advantages.

But OH! The guilt. Guilt at having betrayed the sanctity of her body before marriage, guilt at allowing a man other than her destined husband entry, and Desmond! What would he think of her transgressions? The reality of her indiscretion consumed her, and she collapsed onto her bed weeping while the distinct feeling of moisture toyed with her mind, his remnants upon her sacred places ever present at the forefront of her thoughts.

Day passed into night, and doubts crept up into her mind, refusing to be silenced. Had he known it was her? Really _known_ it to be true? She'd been disguised after all. His eyes had been glued shut throughout, perhaps he was simply imagining himself upon Sofia the princess, and using the girl before him as an instrument.

The thought refused her intense desire for its banishment. He had lusted after her, but may not have realized the woman who succumbed to him was indeed the princess of the land. The idea brought her a modicum of comfort that her transgression may not be discovered, but a whole new world of agony as now she wondered if simple lust drove him forward. There had been no declarations of love, no words of undying affection. Simply the need for something different, something unsafe, something dangerous. Flirting with disaster, and she had found it in that man who set himself apart from the rest. He was different to a fault. So dark, so mysterious, and so incredibly taboo.

The hours ticked away, and there was no visit from the sorcerer. No visitors of any kind. They were allowing her this final peace before the events of the next day.

Unable to sleep the entirety of the evening Sofia sat and gazed upon herself in the mirror. What did she want? What was her life to be? Set along the perfect path with a noble husband, the fineries of life and an endless stream of social obligations? Or was it to be something more, or rather something less. Quiet anonymity in the arms of someone who truly loved her seemed a more palatable fate. But _did_ he love her?

Maids were assembled, hair brought up and smoothed into perfection, and the white trappings of a supposed virgin bride assembled upon her. It was almost time, but still the sorcerer hadn't come. Her father, in finest regalia not seen since his own wedding 12 years prior stood upon the threshold to her chambers.

"Sofia, it's time." He stood there gazing down upon the girl, her confidence all but shattered at this decision predestined for her. "Sofia, you look as lovely as your mother when we were married. I'm so proud of you."

Panic gripped the girl, and she walked with unsteady footing toward an unwanted fate. Where was her sorcerer? Would he truly let this happen? Was it simple lust, disjointed from responsibility or obligation? She'd afforded him that option, as her disguise could allow for the feigning of ignorance easily. There she stood upon the altar before the object of her non-desire, who had dressed in representatives of all the splendor he hoped to shower down upon her throughout the remainder of their lives. Not a trace of her sorcerer was to be seen. Should she throw away this seemingly pleasant fate on the hopes of something not quite tangible?

It was in this moment devoid of magic she prayed that her savior might come and demonstrate an ounce of commitment; that he might carry her away from this life of respectable servitude, away from an ideal she no longer upheld. She closed her eyes and whispered to the stars cloaked by sunlight above.

"Please Mr. Cedric. Please."

Nothing was perfect.


	2. Chapter 2-Through his eyes

Author's Note: In all this world there are many truths that lead us down the path that is reality. None can see all ends of the intricate web's weave. Chapter 2 of 3. Please attenuate your hate, this is M for a reason.

 **Chapter 2: Through his eyes**

 _A broken man haunts a fractured world. As with all creatures, the young, coddled in their mother's arms, grow to think themselves important. But the world sits in judgment, always to remind them of their insignificance._

She was compassionate. Caring. Daresay, _kind_. A beacon of light and positivity in the ocean of misery.

All the things he loathed.

Yet, as the days turned into years he felt himself worn like the riverbed by her constant stream of exuberance, until one day the protestations no longer mattered, the excuses no longer valid.

He was boastful, to be sure. A mark of pride he dutifully wore, for he was the anointed son, the wielder of a great force. Nations should tremble below his might, and yet, ever present, the doubts would creep forth. After a lifetime of rejection and demoralization no demons cry louder than those within. They would sneak into his thoughts, doubting his every action. As the years of failed attempts to claim the greatness he should assume dragged on the ever-present rays of light the princess emitted slowly drowned out the desires for rectifying the world's errors. But then, the demons grew quiet in desire's absence, and he found himself craving the peace.

The sweet, quiet solitude of a day spent in magic. Recapturing that pure joy of his youth, before pressure and expectation turned his heart into a shattered wasteland of disappointments, was something only she could bring. And so he emerged, drug headlong into the daylight from the shadows.

But it was not to last. The fantasy was never truth, the maturity of age bringing with it the faint reminders that youth is transient, and can never truly be embraced once one knows the world and all its harshness.

* * *

Cedric stands at his potions table, staring into a half-formed brew two days before Sofia is to be married. As the ribbons of green mix with drops of purple his mind wanders back to when the comfort gave way to temptation, when she became more than just an insufferable annoyance with an uncanny ability to dissect every one of his ambitions and lay waste to their false promises.

It was spring, not all that long ago, he muses. A year, perhaps two. As with any other day it was filled with the gathering of essentials and snarky banter to counteract the overzealous enthusiasm his sometimes-apprentice displayed for even the mundane. The only exception, an accidental discovery of the eldest princess mired in the throws of passion with some prince from another nation. Uneasy at the new sensation, Cedric watched as their bodies lurched together in the morning sun, an unspoken need long dormant released a wellspring from within. Lost in observation, he was discovered quickly by his attentive follower. Sofia only stood and stared at him as he gawked at the display Amber was performing on the nameless young man.

Once cognizant of watchful eyes, he shied away, embarrassed to have leered at such a sight. But Sofia only smiled, in her characteristically omnipotent way. Rather than the typical annoyance though, the surge of longing filled him. A mixed blessing to be sure, for alongside the anticipation of cherry lips and sparkling blue eyes in the thick golden rays of afternoon crept the darkness, their menacing tendrils wrapping around the edges of his subconscious, taking hold of an entirely new desire. Doubts and fears, intermingled with lust. The swirl too much to disentangle, he fled.

Days passed without mention, and so he deemed himself forgiven by the girl. But now her visits were met with conflicted fear and anticipation. Would she see his shameful longing? So disgusted she must be by an old lecher as he was. But then, she never swayed in her demeanor, the desire for magic never wavering. In the deepest recesses of his mind the chorus of hopes began to sing louder, their melody spilling into his dreams and throughout his waking thoughts.

Until the building crescendo became unbearable. Unable to silence the want of her, he summoned every ounce of courage, a feat considering the dry well from which it was sourced, and exposed his heart, conquering his fears on bended knee.

His princess only paused briefly to inquire if he was injured. The words caught in his throat ached to be spoken, but before they chimed she smiled politely and brushed past him, straight into the arms of a painted simpleton.

* * *

The memory jolts him back into the moment, and he stares down at the mixture bubbling on his workbench. Unable to bring himself to remember that day, a perfect summer afternoon with green grasses and meadows filled with flowers. That beautiful, _miserable_ day when she accepted another as her lover, his hands fall to the table, his forehead tickled by strands of hair that dance in the potion's steam. The cauldron spits and begins to spill, as minutes turn to hours with his mind lost in nothingness to dull the pain.

"Two days till she weds him," he utters aloud. The raven perched above merely crows. Half duplicitous, half chiding, he gives a laugh to try and save face before the bird, "At least after that they'll be one less bother to worry about, ey Wormy."

The raven turns up his tail feathers, defiance on display. Cedric scoffs, "Disrespected by my own bird. Typical." With a shaking head to match.

Long thin hands with bony knobs trace over the parchment while a faint sadness at the intention of this brew comes to mind. To conjure flowers for her wedding, those flowers which will sparkle in the afternoon sunlight as she states her eternal love for someone else. Somehow he sympathizes with these flowers, not yet conjured, still brewing in his pot, the unrequited desire they'll represent lost in meaning to all but him.

"Poseidon's pumpkins. I'm out of diamond dust to make them sparkle, and we can't have, how did the king put it, ' _the most magnificent purple 'sparkling' flowers ever seen_ ' without it, now can we Wormy?" Having learned long ago never to make hasty substitutes, he heaves a heavy sigh and draws up his purse strings. The king bequeathed a hefty sum for essentials, as no expense was spared on the event, this first marriage in a generation. The same cloak he's worn for a decade, maybe more, is pulled over his painfully protruding shoulders as he catches a glance at himself in the corner of a mirror long since covered to hide the advancement of age from his own eyes.

A long, deep look into the passage of time, the years of failures and strife, now marred further still by a rejection so thorough his desire didn't even know she'd performed the act. Another deep sigh, and the cord of his robe is pulled taunt. "I'm going out Wormy. Be back soon."

He waits for the reciprocation, as if by some miracle the bird will respond with kind words of affection, desires that he travel safely or return quickly. But instead there is pecking. A tilted glance back, and the bird is preening. He stands, clears his throat and reiterates, "I _said_ , I'll be back soon Wormy. Do _try_ to contain your sorrow at my departure."

Finally, the bird crows. He cannot take the flying machine, as so often before. Memories of Sofia joyfully traipsing through the night sky alongside him are too much to bear, and so he walks. Indeed, these past months have been a never-ending slog of misery, with each emerging day a new facet of the impending nuptials that turn his stomach so.

The entire exit from the castle is spent imagining that crow was meant kindly. Cedric tries his best to keep his thoughts focused on the task at hand, and not their usage, but the journey takes him through Dunwidde, where the fruit tree he conjured while trying to master the Amulet of Avalor still grows. He cannot help but smile as he wanders further still, past Merlin's castle, remembering the joy Sofia brought to his life by arranging their introduction, and beyond, through memories old and new. The first time she cast a freezing spell happened in a pond he was now passing, the distant memory of the giggles she made when the falling snowflakes touched her nose cause him to chuckle inward with sad remembrance.

As the grass turns dry he realizes Kaldoun is approaching, and beyond lays his destination. His thoughts turn as the leaves, to all the firsts she's given to him. She was the first person he'd ever taught magic to, the first girl he'd ever laughed with, fought alongside, cheered for, the first girl he wished to…

He couldn't finish, the thought to painful to acknowledge on any level beyond the subconscious. Her firsts would be with someone else.

* * *

"Three Quid please." An elderly man behind the charmacy counter extends a wrinkled hand, eagerly awaiting the deposition in exchange for the dust. He fumbles with the drawstring, eliciting a snort of derision.

Rage and contempt inflame within him, that a creature such as this would think so lowly of a royal sorcerer, but the moment passes quickly, and instead of lighting the shop on fire in an ill-conceived attempt to prove his might, he produces three shinning silver pieces. The old man's eyes light up, peering over the edge into the heavily laden satchel. Cedric can see this shop keep's imaginings, what he would do if the purse were his, and tightens his grip on the satchel. Cold eyes meet his, and the man tosses the diamond dust across the counter, as if the sorcerer, and the dust, no longer exists.

Trying to shake off the coldness from someone he's purchased a hundred pounds of goods from over the years, he hesitates on the shop steps. Then, a figment before his eyes, stands Sofia across the bustling street. The fleeting thought is gone as quickly as it came, for the woman across the way, while brunette and very beautiful, was not his princess. He shakes his head in self-rapprochement, "She's at the castle getting ready for her wedding day you old fool, not trailing a footnote of her childhood." Ready to be on his way, he looks up to meet the gaze of the misidentified girl. In his admonitions she'd noticed him, somehow. Disbelieving at first, the brunette smiles gently at him.

Completely unsure of what was happening, he looks to either side, but sees no one else on the step. Again he looks back, and now the girl is beckoning him forth with a subtle gesture. His instincts clear that he should flee, instead he dodges carriages and the odd pedestrian, finding himself standing before the girl, who has taken two steps down to meet him.

A soft, silken voice comes from the woman, whose feminine attributes look conspicuously assessable. "Hi there handsome, what brings you to town?" Sheepishly he holds up the vial of diamond dust and chuckles awkwardly, not even a word and he's already sunk. But then, the girl's eyes brighten much as the old man's did. Instead of revulsion, he swallows thickly, intrigued by this woman whose every inch reminds him of Sofia, down to the crystal-blue eyes. The girl steps closer, drawing herself forward and batting her lashes slowly in one long, sultry advance. "If you're not to busy, I could spend some time with you, handsome."

Blinking back the confusion, he looks around to ensure this beautiful woman is indeed speaking with him. Finally assured he wasn't killed by a passing carriage and now in the great beyond, he looks into her eyes, so like Sofia's, and falters. The girl just laughs, "Well, come inside then." Another smile and quick wink are all it takes to set him floating in the door behind her. Once closed, the reality sets in.

The space is an entryway, a wooden hall filled with exotic flowers and decorative pastries, but with a strange scent hanging in the air. An old woman neatly dressed advances, clearly sizes him up, the beautiful girl over an arm's length away. This woman bellows deep, "One quid for an hour" in his ear. Confused, Cedric rears back, a steady hand on the dust and satchel full of coins.

"Excuse me Madam, but what are you suggest…" An older man with trousers undone staggers out from one door and into another, and the reality of what he's walked into firms in his mind. His arms flail in an attempt to establish the personal space this older woman intruded upon, and quickly the young girl is at his side, running a hand along the inside of his thigh.

"Won't you spend an hour with me? I can make you feel strong, powerful, and virile, my handsome man." It felt good. Enough so that for an instant he considered the offer, but frightened and unsure he panics.

Fleeing the girl's touch he hears the old woman call out, "Don't worry, we pride ourselves on discretion."

But it matter's not. He's back out into the street and to the outskirts of town before he stops running. Panting heavily, his infrequently exercised frame comes to rest on the stump of a great oak, and slowly he processes what happened. The chance at intimacy, but could he with a woman such as that?

The possibilities reel through his mind. He shouldn't, but why? Who exactly was he saving himself for anyway? No maiden had ever stood his company, save for Sofia. For her? She was already spoken for. Here he was, generously labeled as 'middle aged', without any prospects for a good match.

"Two days."

Silently he wrestles with base desires and higher calling to abstain as his feet begin to move. The image of Sofia dances through his head, intermingled with the girl who beckoned him closer. Her soft lips, her strong curves beckoned to him. "I'm a man, I have needs, what is so wrong with that?" he asks no one. But then, could he live with himself after succumbing to desires of the flesh? Fingers balled into a fist, he lands it hard in his hand. "No, I shan't do something so base. I'm a _royal_ sorcerer, I've no need for the company of such a woman." He declares triumphantly.

He does so as he's standing in front of the doorway he's just fled. Kicking the doorframe to punish his feet for acting of their own accord, he curses the stars for the pain now coursing up his toes. There's a soft giggle, and the blue-eyed girl is standing there. Without a word she pulls him in, and toward a back room. The only hesitation is the abrupt cough of the older woman. Cedric covers his eyes with one hand to protest, the other betraying his resolve by fishing out a sterling pound, tossing it on the counter.

Now here and in the moment, he stares at the wall, nervous beyond measure. The room is quite small, by palace standards, and dark, with little more than a bed and nightstand, but now the strange scent of foreign incense is unmistakable. Curtains of deep hues cover the walls, providing texture to the small quarters. Cedric scoffs to himself at the ' _discretion'_ they must also provide. Soft hands run along the back of his hair, sending chills down his spine, but he cannot look, his nose buried into one of the velvety drapes. Slowly her hands turn him away from the wall, and to his great relief she is still dressed. An audible sigh of relief echoes through the tiny space, to which she smiles kindly. "This is your hour." She decrees. "Tell me what you want, and within reason I'll try to accommodate it."

He tries to think of why he agreed to this, but comes up empty. What had seemed the very reflection of Sofia now reveals all the differences. Large hands, flattened nose, and the voice, too deep to be his princess. They stand in silence as the minutes pass by. Several times he tries to start talking, but can't make the words come. Finally she advances, hands slipping inside his robe. The tiniest, "no" involuntarily escapes him, and the girl stops.

"No refunds." She states calmly, "We can stare at each other for the last 15 minutes or get to it, it's your choice."

He looks to the clock ticking along the wall, and indeed most of his time has expired. Nervous he begins to shake, the belt of his robe held by a seeming Gordian knot. "Confound it all, insufferable fabric."

The girl giggles. Not a pleasant sort of giggle Sofia would make, it only serves to heighten his anxiety. Exasperated, he cries out, "Ten pounds if you'll stop the clock and it's infernal pressure." The girl's eyes widen, and enthusiastically she nods, rapping nine times on the heavy wooden door. He fumbles through the coin purse, setting the extra silvers on the nightstand.

She strides forward, pressing herself into him. "Wait" escapes his lips. The loathing almost too much to bare, he pulls from his sleeves the characteristic wand. Immediately the woman shies away. "Just what do you expect to do with that, handsome? I reserve the right to say 'no' if this gets too weird."

"You needn't worry. I just need you to look more like…. Well never mind ' _who_ '." Before her eyes he conjures a crown of special magnificence. Identical in every way to the one Sofia dawns, he admires it before turning to the woman eying the object with suspicion. "Would you wear this? I will make it more, _enjoyable_."

Another chuckle from the girl, now seemingly bashful, "You mean, _believable_." The awkward clearing of his throat, and sudden loathing grips him as tightly as he grasps the false crown in his hands. This girl will never be Sofia, not with all the magic in this realm.

Hesitantly this girl steps forward, then snatches the item away.

"I'm not giving this back." With that, the replica is set upon her head. Now her hands roam free, as if she has permission, as if she somehow knows the ways his body yearns to be touched. Even through his clothing, it's more than he's felt of another human's warmth in what seems an eternity. How he hates himself, but his body tells a different tale. Slowly her figure rocks against his, as his imagination kicks in, removing the mental barriers. His hands instinctually bury themselves into her hair, reminiscing on when Sofia came home last winter, caught in a tempest and drenched to the bone. It wasn't that suitor she'd run to, but him. Eager to please, he'd dried her beautiful hair by conjuring tiny sun, much as he'd done years ago, this time by choice. But the texture of this girl's hair was different, everything about this was wrong, the truth's poignant sting driving deeper into his psyche. He reasoned that all men do mental gymnastics to get through the day, and resolved to try harder.

"Tell me you love me, how impressive my magic is, how you've always wanted me, and not that youthful cad. Tell me that it's all a horrible mistake." He can't believe the desperate words crossed his lips, but they did, and the girl obliges.

It's false.

It's wrong.

Small 'no's' try to force their way out, despite his best efforts to convince himself this if fine, he knows it isn't.

But his body betrays him, as everything does. It's over before it even began, and embarrassed at how little it took to stimulate himself, he curls away from the fleetingly confused girl. Sudden worry washes over Cedric as he takes stock of where his seed has gone. Luckily nowhere out of his reach. An unpleasant mess in his trousers, and nothing more. The girl seems to realize his failings, and chuckles.

"Don't worry, it's happens more than you'd think, especially when it's been a while."

"I'd rather not ponder why you know that tidbit."

"I understand." The weight of what he's done causes his knees to buckle, and in a final act of pathetic self-loathing he collapses, head in his hands on the floor, on the verge of tears.

Softly she strokes his hair while he dodges her touch, not wanting to remember how it felt. That this ever happened. "You must really love this princess." Horrified that he's been recognized, that somehow this incident will reach the castle and Sofia will know, the blood drains from his face. The girl just smiles before he can summon the courage to ask, "No, I don't know who you are, or who she is, but it's obvious you wanted me to be someone you can't have, and considering the crown, she must be royalty."

The girl touches the false ornament as she says it, and slowly Cedric laughs. At himself, at the absurdity of this interlude, all of it.

"Would you like a word of advice, from someone who has experience in these things?"

The offer jolts his back from the precipice of self-loathing he's dangling upon, the very nerve of her to assume she can offer counsel. But the girl smiles kindly, in no way condescending as most are. "If you get a chance with her, try closing your eyes and holding your breath, it'll increase your stamina."

He eyes the girl incredulously, and so she offers explanation, "Trust me. Men are visual, and get over stimulated by what they see. If you close your eyes you'll focus more on her." Cedric sneers, unable to process the words as more than dribble. In response the girl rolls her eyes, and delves deeper into the hearts of women. "Women are emotional, so really tune into her. Her sound, her scent, and the way she responds to your touch. That way, when you tell her you love her, she'll believe it. She might say she loves you too, even if you don't love yourself."

The very nerve of this girl. To assume she knows him on some deeper, existential level. But he's still recovering from the moment passed, unable to storm off. "How is it you know what form my self-image takes?"

A genuine smile spreads from the girl's lips. "It's my job to read people. Men who are lonely, men who are sad, those who could use my services. If you don't believe me, just look at the 9 sterling pounds on my dresser. That's three years pay of washing dishes in the local tavern, and I just made it in an hour by deducing your means and desires."

A grimace spreads across his face, still buried in his hands. "So then you marked me as rich but pathetic. Not exactly encouraging, are we?"

"Actually, I _am_ tying to encourage you. You seem like a nice guy, an incredibly sad man, but kind and in need of a little counsel in the ways of women."

He scoffs, the truth within the statement too poignant to accept. "Well then, now that I've been lectured about my shortcomings, I believe that's enough for today."

A kindly sigh, and the harlot stands to open the door. Consumed by shame, Cedric covers his eyes and darts through the entrance, past the exotic goods and straight for the door.

"Come again soon." He hears from the symphony of those inside, the cheers of celebration for the sums he's dolled out on such a disturbing afternoon jaunt, but he cannot bear to think of the personal failings he's succumbed to. Instead he bolts toward Enchancia, and the safe harbor of his workshop.

Miles pass under his feet, and stars begin to twinkle in the night sky. His thoughts turn inward, to the fleeting pleasure his body craved that so disgusted his mind. Was the woman being truthful? If he really took a chance with Sofia, would it turn the tides of his fate?

* * *

Potion completed, the moon casts it's shadow upon the workshop floor. Hours are spent watching the pale moon light in quiet contemplation of the ramifications. What if he tried? An unambiguous rejection seemed inevitable, but the cost of living without it seemed a price heavier than all the silvers in the castle vault. Reflection on their time together was as unkind as reflections on the afternoon. Sofia was the one who initiated all of their interactions. Sofia was the one extending herself into his realm in the name of friendship. After she'd accepted that prince as her lover Cedric could no longer bare her presence. Excuses were made, appointments cancelled.

The corner of his eye catches the mirror, the tumult overwhelming he springs forth. Fabric stretches, finally giving way to his frustration it rips and drifts to the floor, his reflection consuming his thoughts.

He's old. Much too old to entertain Sofia's thoughts, and these months of wedding preparations reflect the haggardness of insomnia upon his brow.

He's much too thin, too little of a man with slim accomplishments to his name.

" _You've nothing to feel guilt about. She doesn't desire you. How could she_?" The words, almost real, come from beyond his mind, the demons crying louder.

"There's, still a chance." Defiantly he protests, "After all, she's not married yet."

" _Do you really believe that_?" the doubts whisper to the small rays of hope all but extinguished.

Does he?

As the moon sets the darkness takes him, his reflection all the doubts he wished to silence so long ago. Realizing himself a coward, the easy way was taken this afternoon. Instead of unfurling his heart to the girl he loved, he sought solace in the arms of another, and even then he failed.

"I don't, believe it." Inside his mind the demons dance in merriment, delighting that they've won.

To no one he whispers, "But I love her all the same."

The words catch him off guard. "Love". The repetition drifts from his lips, wafting through the tower and out the open window. Surely he simply lusts for her, as any man would? It can't truly be love, that deep, encompassing emotion that bonds families and souls together across the great spans of time and space.

"Oh Sofia. If only there were a sign. I'd tame the very seas and conquer realms if there were even an inkling that you cared for me. _Anything_ over this torment." Stone walls hear his cries, but never have they answered back.

Great sighs come. One by one they shed emotions upon the stones below and a resolution is reached. He has to try. The faint rays of golden light now flickering through his window herald the dawn. His eyes never shut this night, but there is no time to doddle, for with the sun rises Baileywick, the master of protocol.

Quickly Cedric uses but a teaspoon of the shimmering dust and conjures the most beautiful bouquet of flowers ever beheld. Dashing through the halls, he comes to rest outside the princess's bedchambers.

What was an effortless sprint to her door now catches up with him. Feet grow heavy, arms deadened, heart throbbing, he cannot bring himself to knock.

"Cedric."

It's the steward, accompanied by the sinking feeling in the pit of Cedric's stomach, "Isn't it a bit early for you? You look awful."

The snide comment that was to follow never came, as Amber dashes past them both into Sofia's chambers. Shrill laughs and banter begin, as a flurry of maids swing past Cedric. Clutching the flowers to his breast, Cedric sucks in the last bits of his courage to enter Sofia's chambers.

Baileywick's hand stops him. "I'll take these to her for approval. In the meantime you're needed in the garden."

Through the throngs he catches a glimpse of Sofia. The usual radiant beauty is there, but something else. Something he hasn't stopped to notice. Another fleeting glance, and now he's sure.

The smile isn't real.

"The garden Cedric. Now please." Impatiently the steward is tapping his pocket watch.

"But, I really must speak with her, alone. It's long overdue." A subtle glance of disdain, and Baileywick straightens.

"Cedric, Sofia is getting married tomorrow. We're on a tight schedule, and she doesn't have time for this, and the flowers are as the king specified. Now go conjure a thousand more in the gardens before midday."

With that the door is closed. Thwarted, his shoulders slump and head sinks low, and the defeated march to the gardens is begun.

But what of Sofia's smile? A bevy of servants are assembling tables and ballasts for decorations to come. Observing this, his mind wanders back, over the course of months, to memories he's tried to forget. When Sofia announced her engagement to the boy. He'd shied away in a dark corner, brooding over sadness of things one cannot loose because they were never truly his.

But, Sofia wasn't beaming when she announced it. Sure, she held the prince's hand, but the smile wasn't real. Instead she'd stared out the window for much of the evening.

Another moment, one he'd all but repressed, pops up as he levitates decorations for ungrateful helpers. This time, the Wassalia ball. Sofia had been late, her fiancé made to pace anxiously. She'd eventually arrived, hair tousled and dress haphazardly assembled, but why? She'd seemed happy, but as the night dragged on the genuine smile faded, only to be replaced by the one she wore in her bedroom just now.

Memories flow along with magic from his wand, free and boundless. He hears her cries, the pounding on his tower entrance, that night he king bade her rescind the Amulet. No longer needed, another relic of her childhood gone. Unable to face her, the pounding finally stopped, the sobs drifting off into the night. Oh, the regrets he harbored.

The Amulet was something she cared for, there were so many facets of her childhood she truly cared for, but never has he seen Sofia emote for the man she is to marry.

She didn't love this prince. She _doesn't_ love him.

Minutes pass. Servants shrug and wander by, uncaring why he's frozen stiff in the gardens, the wind slightly rustling his hair. It must be stress, he imagines. Stress, and his own desires dancing like a sheen over reality to twist its sharper edges.

The raven is back. Floating down and crowing loudly for his missed breakfast. The sudden peck to his ear brings him out of the trance. "She wouldn't possibly marry someone she doesn't love, would she Wormy?"

The bird crows angrily, and Cedric swears he was the recipient of an eye roll. But then, as if the gods above have smote him, the chosen prince comes waltzing by. Suppressing the immediate desire to wretch, he instead turns to converting potion to petals, grimacing and casting curses at the boy.

"Um, afternoon, there." The shy deliverance is met with distain. The quick thought of turning the prince into a vulture crosses his mind, but a quick glance around confirms there are too many witnesses present. He only grunts in response.

"The, um, flowers look lovely, but are a little bit lopsided. Did you add exactly three spoonfuls of magical fertilizer to the mix, because they look a bit short."

The glare that sorcerer made would unsettle the dead. The timid boy cowers back three steps. How _DARE_ this whelp, whose stolen Cedric's true desire, comment on his magical skills. Waves of hatred waft at the boy from under his brow, and the smile the boy wears slowly fades.

Grasping at straws, the boy offers explanation. "I just want everything to be perfect, and I know how much Sofia admires you and your magic, so I want her to see the very best you can offer. I still can't believe Sofia actually agreed to marry me, and I don't want anything to deter her."

The grimace fades, replaced by confusion. Unwilling to speak to the boy, Cedric turns toward his work as the lad begins to wander off. The lilacs are listing to one side, but perhaps they reflect him, who is also barely able to stay upright.

"Wait." He can't believe it was uttered, but now that it was the boy stopped to turn. The nagging question looms. "Why were you baffled by her acceptance?" _You miscreant_ he leaves behind.

The boy blinks, then cocks his head to the side. "Well, because she never let on that she, you know, loved me. I thought that she only considered me a friend, but I just had to try, you know?"

The words are a poignant sting, the predicator of false hope. He nods, and the boy slinks away, leaving Cedric to his thoughts. A mirror image of his own fears, the boy had conquered them and proven victorious.

All he did was try. Could Cedric do the same? Who was he kidding, this boy was a prince. A prince with assets, breeding, gifts beyond measure. But then, Sofia transcends the mundane, impressed more by the size of one's heart than one's purse. Would she devolve into a marriage of means? What was the difference then, he muses, on the woman of yesterday and a princess accepting a loveless marriage. Both sell their bodies for money, simply different sums.

The more he thought of the man, the more vivid imaginings of him tangled in Sofia's unwilling arms gripped his mind. Angrily sparks flew from his wand, and flowers of every shape and size began sprouting from surfaces near and far, until,

"Cedric. We have an early visitor."

Baileywick is there, to chide once more. But with him comes a girl, whose eyes are all too familiar, if the wrong shade.

The smile is the same. The giggle. The transparency of the lies that only Sofia fails so miserably at, and then, to set a hammer to the nail in his mind, "Mr. Cedric" crosses her cherry lips.

Is it _Sofia_?

Has she truly come to him?

" _But why_?" The demons within cry out. He tries in vain to contain the excitement, mind racing as he watches her conjure perfect petals in the afternoon sunlight. Happier times, easier times, are invoked. Her compassion, to ignore her obligation in order to alleviate his suffering all he can process. Magic and his love intermingle with the moment, and he knows. From the very instant she spoke he knows. He had to but close his eyes, and it was her.

"It would seem men _are_ visual." He grumbles, the love of his life at his side doesn't hear as they wander through the fields toward the stream, him seeking desperate measures to keep her from the palace and fate.

A book serves a thin veil of secrecy as he watches her, knee deep in the river catching pollywogs. The great care she takes not to injure each infant frog fill the corners of his eyes with tears. She is the most caring creature to ever roam the land in his eyes. Watching her twist and turn about, the water splashing along her thighs entices her to upturn the thin skirt she's wearing, revealing what he's so desperately wanted to see. The realization of his arousal catches him off guard, and self-loathing for wanting another man's intended takes hold.

But is she truly another's? Or simply unobtainable. The hurt, the rejection, it's all simmering there below the surface, and try as he might to ignore it, the impending nuptials loom over this hallowed afternoon of secret indulgence. She says something innocent, and the lid blows off, the pain tumbling forth like mad, but he cannot bear to ask her if beyond not loving her fiancé there is more.

On some level he doesn't need to ask, just show her how much she means to him. Then the words will come, and Sofia will believe them. The woman of yesterday's advice clinging to his every move, every step, he walks farther away from responsibility, begging his princess in his way to continue onward, to give him more time and a glimmer of hope.

To his amazement, she agrees. Clinging tighter now, the demons within him shout so loud. That he'll never be enough, that he's misinterpreting her kindness toward an old wretch, that within a day she'll be gone forevermore. But she is so very kind.

Still, the woman's words of yesterday provide an all but certain false hope. Slowly, he closes his eyes, clings tighter to Sofia's arm, and dwells on not what he loves of her, but what she loves.

Adventure. Excitement. Laughter. Joy. Kindness. And then, dancing along his mind are images of her youth. Sofia poised with butterflies alight on her nose and fingers comes to mind, bringing a smirk of knowing apprehension to his lips. Before the demons can react he conjures them, the magic a surrogate of all colors imaginable to reflect the many levels of his heart she has captured.

As his love dances in the secluded field he watches, content for the first time in ages, before this desperate need to have her took hold. In appreciation she's up against him, panting slightly from the running, half-lidded eyes staring up at him. These are the eyes of a woman, not girl. He tries to find the words to ask without asking, without splaying open his heart until he's sure, but then, it was she that lifted upon her toes to let their lips meet.

She tastes of honey, cranberries and ecstasy. Afraid he'll fail as yesterday he forces his eyes shut, taking in her very essence. The softness of her hair, the smoothness of her skin as his hands trail over her exposed arms, the sound of her panting for air when briefly their lips part. As water flows through a stream, loving her seems effortless. Pulled along by the threads of fate, there is not hesitation, no fear. They could have lived a hundred years as lovers, for ease and comfort he feels conveyed.

Slight moans reach his ears as he touches her more deeply, more intimately, each mew inviting him onward. Part of him wonders why he's waited so long, the rest afraid to take him out of the moment, lest she loose the desire to continue. As if this union was blessed Sofia starts pulling up her skirt, moaning louder and more pleasantly. He thrives on her encouragement, hands busy themselves, trying desperately to please her. To respond to her needs. It's going well, as evidenced by her twitching. She's even begun to nibble on his ear. Her initiation is more than he can take, and slowly he dares to dream, that this is the moment.

Still unsure, he leaves no room for speculation, pressing the whole of his want into her. Instead of balking, her hips turn into him as a flurry of kisses are unleashed, the final encouragement.

He's too close, and sure to disappoint his beloved in this state, and so the eyes clamp shut even tighter, and a deep breath is held to stave off the moment.

Enveloped in her warmth, intertwined with the girl he loves, time stands still. The great divinity of life's continuity is within his grasp. He's forgotten about stilling the impulse to completion. Instead, the deepest instinct takes hold. He's crying out how right this is, a behavior long discouraged in polite society, as the feelings she brings him with each movement rip his heart wide open, letting all the boundless emotions rain down through him into her. He can feel every shudder, every gasp, and in this perfect state of bliss her body begins to shake once more as she whimpers his name softly in his ear.

She is his.

The release washes over him, much as it did her, and thoroughly spent he sinks deeper into her skin, taking in her scent, the subtle rise and fall of her exposed chest. It's all as he'd dreamed it a hundred times. A more perfect bliss was never known. To him, she is everything, encompassing the entire world and all it's hopes. They are two matching halves of eternal existence, through their union he is made whole.

With all his might he wishes that those words would tumble forth, but the abject deprivation of energy from months of torment take hold. Barely he can muster, "Sofia". Those words, tonal inflections filled with all the love of a lifetime, he hopes to be enough.

Suddenly the world is cold. He has forgotten the game, and in doing so his beautiful angel has pulled away, leaving him in a dust of half assembled clothing. The words of love, devotion and undying loyalty spill forth as he tries to gather himself back into his trousers, but she's already beyond his sight.

Staggering around in desperate search of her, an hour passes by. He comes to the inevitable conclusion that the magnitude of what they've just done overwhelmed her, and so she fled. He too is overcome by emotion, relying on a nearby rock to hold his weight.

The sun has nearly set when he returns to the castle. He is greeted by the relentless march of wedding, still on display. She hasn't cancelled it. Over and through all the possible scenarios his mind races, drawing to one inevitable conclusion. She loves him. He had offered her nothing, but she took him in all the same. There was no bait of money or power, only the perfect sense of belonging that being conjoined brought.

That was love, not fake smiles at a handsome young man.

What to do about it? Valiantly he marches to her room to declare his undying love, but is thwarted by the king, who decrees his princess is not to be disturbed. Guards thwart a stealthy approach. Magical intrusion? For hours he debates it, the cold sting of lying exposed on the hillside bringing the doubts creeping forth.

" _She just wanted a thrill, to take the edge off the stress."_ They cry.

Hair is ripped from his head, in desperate attempt to silence the demon's lies. "No, _NO_ , she would never do that with a man she didn't love. Not Sofia."

" _She's alive, she has needs, and she knows you'll never tell. It wasn't love, it was lust_."

"NO! It can't be, she must love me, as much as I love her." The stone walls lie still. Looking down, he can still feel her hands claw into his back, her temple drawing him in. The thought of that detestable prince drinking from the wellspring of her life steels his resolve to prove his devotion.

Still, the demons are there, swaying his mind. As the night drags on his mind wanders to old temptations. So distraught was she at the loss of the Amulet of Avalor, the ill-formed idea writes itself. In the castle jewel room it lingers, ownerless, and therefore not stolen, he reasons. It would make a fitting bridal purse, one Sofia would fully appreciate. That is, after he uses it to thwart this wedding and save his beautiful lover from a marriage of society.

"My lover." Lingers on his lips. Indeed, the label suits.

As the dawn slowly breaks beyond the wooded hills he descends the tower steps. Sleep has eluded him for months, the past two days not a drop to be had. But in his heart he knows this must be done. A poorly maintained lock and heavy door is all that now stands between him and the Amulet, this inevitable destiny, now easily opened. Sofia consumes his thoughts as each flick of the wand knocks a griffin guard aside.

She is compassionate. Caring. Kind. _His_ beacon of light and positivity.

All the things he loved.

The jewel room now stands open. In his haze he hears the faint call of the bugle, the castle is on alert, but before his eyes lays the Amulet of Avalor. It should be hers forevermore, not wait in ruinous solitude for another owner as in generation's past. Halted steps toward it are taken, a certain derangement of purpose mixed with the last ounces of strength he possesses forms their gait, beckoned forward by the jewel glistening in the morning light. Slowly long, pale fingers wrap around this, the answer to his suffering. Slowly lifting it from the naked bust, a deluge of guards knocks him to the ground. The struggle is useless, as the jewel rolls out of his hands, knocking against the kings study boot.

Stern, unyielding eyes reign down as the king shakes in rage. "How _COULD_ you Cedric, after all these years. You're a thief?!"

Incoherent, he babbles words of devotion, longing, enviable triumph, as he is slowly drug backward down the hall. A last, valiant effort to alert his lover to his impending doom is all he has.

" _SOFIA_!"

 _He is whole once more, but can the fleeting throws of passion stand the test of time?_


	3. Chapter 3-Broken Healing

Author's Note: This is the end, but I may write something 'M' just to round out the ending a bit. Let me know if you'd enjoy that.

 **Chapter 3: Broken Healing**

Bone white knuckles grip the bars of his cage. His only company, desperate screams of his lover's name. Over and over again until the echoes are all that remain of his resolve. Morning has passed into afternoon in this prison, and still no one comes. Overhead, echoing through the vast, empty space, drifts the sound of music softly playing.

'No!' Panicked, he beats the only thing he has, his frail body against the bars that hold him. 'No, I have to stop this! She'll never be happy with him!"

Now cheers, so quiet he thinks them perhaps a phantom of his imagination, but the adrenaline, the very urgency with which he struggles flows from him, and he collapses into a puddle, weeping into the dirt below.

She's chosen someone else, after all.

The demons dance and sing along with happy celebrants above. 'You see?' They cry. 'You were nothing to her, and never were.'

"NO, NO! I can still stop this! I can still stop _her_! She loves me! _ME_!" Like an animal, desperately he tries to claw free. But no amount of wriggling can wedge him through the bars.

Day passes to night, and something within him snaps. The wedding must have ended long ago, but he still hears the music, the cheering. It seems to haunt his mind, growing louder with each hour ticking by. The weight of his ill-decisions carries him down, deep into the pits of self-loathing. He should have stayed in his tower. Never does a man such as him deserve to eat the forbidden fruit.

A week passes, as all hope for redemption fades.

Then two.

Not even the raven, his steadfast companion, has ventured to aid him. Who really could he depend on then, if not Sofia? She must have heard what happened in the vault, and assumed the worst.

The idea cemented in his mind, he reasons she never truly cared. No one could truly care and leave him to this fate.

A month goes by.

Each day a new meal of molded bread and curdled milk is set by the side of his cage, the days' prior meal, now bitten by rats that feast in the night, is returned from whence it came, barely touched.

But Cedric stays. There is nowhere to go, and nothing to do but sit and stare as small particles float by.

"I am a fool. A worthless, pathetic fool for believing that she, that anyone, could actually _love_ me. No one cares." He weeps into the long nights, utterly alone.

Two months have passed. The summer heat swelters the castle, the dungeon worst of all. Twice he's sure that death has finally taken him from this prison of earthly solitude. Each time he's awoken to fresh water and sad tidings of loneliness. He thinks it cruel beyond measure, even murderers are not committed to solitary confinement.

Still no one comes.

There is nothing to do. No one to speak with. Nothing but his own thoughts, which twist and turn into living nightmares alone in this dank wasteland of lost promise that has become his life. It was all _her_ fault, he reasons. He had turned away, minded his own business.

He'd at least tried to distance himself.

Purposefully, to be sure. It was _HER_ fault, not his. _She_ came to him in the afternoon when she should have been focused on her wedding. _She_ goaded him on.

She never loved him, so why should he ever have loved her? As days pass, he convinces himself, through broken bits and measures, that he never did, in fact, love her. This was all a mistake. A game of entrapment gone wrong. He was to be the cat, but somehow ended up the mouse.

* * *

A morning, as any other passed here, comes. He's lost count of the days. But this morning, the routine breaks. The bars are flung open; arms encircle his frame. But after so many months of staring into the nothingness, the people surrounding him seem shadows, not flesh and blood.

It's his mother. The woman weeps, pulling on Cedric's odd angles. Finally, she gets him upright, and, muscles atrophied, he nearly collapses.

He's caught by soft arms, chestnut curls toppling into his face. Barely able to life his head, he knows the girl who's caught him is Sofia. He cannot bear to look her in the eye. So destitute he must seem, so frail. But she is here.

That wellspring of hope he'd fought against for months springs up, quite involuntarily. Knowing he should simply let it go, but can't, he looks down to the girl's hand, now gripping his shoulders.

The ring encircling her finger is beautiful.

It's sickeningly, horrifyingly beautiful. His stomach turns, as the words his mother is spewing take shape.

"And what with the mix of potions we found up there, it's no wonder you were poisoned by the fumes from that brew."

"Yes, yes _indeed_ Winnifred. Come, Cedric. I've managed to convince the king you were hallucinating on fumes from a potion gone wrong. Now, buck up, and let's get you out of here."

So his salvation had come in the form of a lie. From his parents.

It was humiliating, and to have Sofia witness it, while that ring, the _other man's_ ring, glistened in the light, was too much.

It might have been violent, if he'd the strength to yank away as intended. Instead he lurched backward, Sofia letting him slip from her grasp. She stood there, mouth gaping, arms reaching out to him, but all he saw were ghosts of his fears haunting her frame. They took the form of that man's hands upon her, the reflection of his own failings. The demons had won.

"Cedric, please, I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I—"

"The sapphire." When he speaks, both his parents and the girl fall silent. Quickly the girl clasps her hand over the ring, but she cannot hide the truth. Not from him.

"The sapphire" he repeats. "Matches your eyes. _Congratulations._ " All the love he'd felt has turned to poison, and with it, he spits the word with venom.

Regrets swells within him, as her timid hopefulness turns to horror, the corners of her once-bright smile turn down, and tears flow from her eyes.

He cannot bear to look, pushing past her he bolts for the door, and hopefully far from the insanity that was his wasted life.

But there is no salvation. Goodwin is upon him, yanking him and admonishing his existence, as it always has been, and ever will be. This, Cedric realizes now.

"Listen Cedric, I've stuck my neck out for you. This is your last chance. My reputation is on the line. You've no right to be angry at anybody but yourself, so don't blow it by hurting Queen Sofia's feelings."

Queen.

The knife in his belly turns harder. Trotted before the king, who laughs off the ordeal with no admission of guilt, he's made to sit, now in his tower, once more. A stack of potions to his left, the raven, still there, to his right.

He's expected to carry on as if nothing happened. The orders stack up, none fulfilled. Baileywick resumes his schedule, and life continues onward as the daily coming's and going's of the castle pass through the gilded gates.

But not for Cedric.

Sofia no longer lives here, this much he's gathered. He's made to stand, to attend certain things, listen to the staff complain about being shorthanded, but cannot perform. He doesn't even try. Birthdays come, and go. Oddly, Cedric notes that Sofia does not attend the twin's annual extravaganza, which he spots from his tower window.

' _Now she's the one embarrassed'_. The voices cry. A certain self-contented smirk grows upon him, that somehow from his complete and utter humiliation he's managed to salvage some of his self-image.

But the days are long, and lonely. The nights are worse. The only daily activity he can attempt, a walk through the woods, leads him always to the grass below the old oak tree. That place time has forgotten, where she, _used_ him? _loved_ him? Let him touch the pinnacle of being but then so cruelly yanked it away. Life's greatest joke, but the last in a string of lies he was told to accomplish in life.

* * *

It's harvest time, and true to form a great ball is to be held. The king hasn't even bothered to request anything be conjured for this event, not that Cedric would fulfill the wish. But the music, that horrible, melodious tune he can barely stand is echoing up through the courtyard to his tower. It forces him to sit and stare, remembering _that_ day, when she promised herself to that man she didn't love. How he must be giddy each night as she lies beside him, bending to his will and desires. A timid knock echoes off his door, disrupting his thoughts.

He knows that knock. Refusing to open it, or his heart again, lest it be torn asunder, he resumes staring into space.

"Cedric. Please, it's me."

Minutes pass, and though he strains to hear her footsteps trailing off into the night, they do not sound.

"Cedric, please, I need to talk to you. It's important."

He wants to open it. How he hates himself so, but she's at it again, tempting his weakness. ' _She'll only tear you asunder once more'_ the voices cry. ' _Don't trust her_ '. He thinks that a wiser strategy. Why is she even here? simply to torment him no doubt. She's chosen her companion, and it isn't this lonely, slip of a man.

But the girl won't leave. She's still standing there, the shadow of her feet extend under his door.

"Cedric, I really need your help. I _need_ you."

What for, he cannot bear to remember. Not with her here. He has to make her go, and leave him to his memories.

"Your husband is waiting for you downstairs. I suggest you find him to satisfy whatever, _problem_ , you may have."

The callousness of it astounds even him. Crying comes from the opposite side of the door, and instant guilt swells in him. The door is flung open, his feet moving of their own accord, but rather than see his angel he hears footsteps hurriedly shuffling down the stone steps amidst dimming sobs.

Well, he's done it. She's gone and he cannot bear to follow. He's tried that already, and failed. He deems himself good at failing. Why, the best! And resolves to never try at anything, again.

* * *

In the shade of the old oak tree minutes turn to hours as he daydreams of happier times. This place has become his sanctuary, where none in the palace would think to search him out. In sadder moments he remembers the way the stream looked that day, the way she felt to the touch, and with each passing week the king grows angrier at his lack of progress, his lack of presence. Something has to give.

It comes in the form of parchment. Simply stated, it's delivered into his hands by Baileywick, Cedric having been summoned to the throne room to be delivered the news.

A small satchel, severance pay it would seem, and Rolland's long tirade about giving Cedric more chances than any man deserves.

'It's fine'. He reasons, he's never liked this job, never felt appreciated, wanted or loved. Why should he care about the title, anyway? It was all for appearances, and if nobody ever cared, he felt no need to care about any of them in return.

"Come Wormy."

Raven mounted on his shoulder, he sets out, but finds he has nowhere to go. He wanders, for the sake of wandering, to find somewhere untouched by Sofia, free of beautiful, haunted memories. It proves a difficult task. It seems every corner of Enchancia is inhabited by his once-lover, and past friend.

* * *

In a tavern one night, self-soothing with drink, he hears old men chortling between guzzles of ale.

"Ten pence it's a son!"

"I'll take that bet."

" _Buffoons_." Cedric mutters under his breath, the raven cawing in agreement, assuredly.

"Best not to be insulting them two, they're passionate about royalty."

Sneering at the uninvited comment, Cedric turns to see others have now joined in the pot. One looks up, engaging him. "Ey stranger, you wanna place a bet?"

The unintended eye roll doesn't seem to put off the man. "Why ever would I want to 'bet' on some trivial nonsense."

"It's not trivial." One of the loud, drunken men interjects. "The Queen's due in a month, and I'm betting it's a boy. They'll be a crown-prince for sure!"

It made no sense. Miranda was much too old to be expecting a new addition. Cedric, having been the royal sorcerer, knew she was beyond her natural ability to produce such an heir. Notwithstanding biology, James was next in line. No 'crown' anything would be affixed to a new family member. Unless the prince was somehow deceased.

"I believe you are mistaken, for Queen Miranda cannot be expecting."

"Not her you dolt, Sofia. My wife saw her in Dunwitty a few weeks back. She's supposed to have another month but my wife thinks it'll be any day now."

"It's gonna be a girl." Snarked another shorter, stouter man. "They say she's been a pile of nerves, it's a bad omen. I'll tell you."

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Sofia's expecting, and it's that dolt of a prince, no _KING_ , that's given her this gift. That night, as Cedric lies in a makeshift hovel in the forest, he begs that lightning may come and smite him for his sins, wiping him from this world and the sorrows in it.

* * *

Another month passes, and snow now blankets the tri-kindgoms. Potions ingredients are hard to come by for a sorcerer on a budget. No longer does he have the king's unlimited purse at his side. The shop keep in Kaldoun must know this, and the mild disdain Cedric suffered from before is met with outright defiance now.

"It's six shekels for eggshell powder."

"But last week it was two, _TWO_. Do you mean to tell me that somehow the cost of eggs has tripled?!"

"Aye."

"Of all the insufferable…" Cedric flares, wishing to smite the old man where he stands. Unafraid, the man shorts with derision.

"Pay up or leave."

Cedric reluctantly opens the purse, and not but two shekels are left from the King's remittance. Purse-string snapped taunt, he leaves in a huff to hopefully disguise his dire straits and salvage some dignity.

Now seated on a fountain, near the old town square, he looks with envy on the town beggar, who munches happily on a snack. He could conjure one, he reasons, but it wouldn't be enjoyable. Nothing is. Since that night in the tavern he's thought of nothing but Sofia, and the child on the way. Will it have her eyes? Her smile? That vivacity for life she exuded? Or will blonde hair and chubby cheeks from her husband distort its features.

"Come back here you!" Through the bustle of the crowd streaks a girl. Beautiful and brunette, for a moment time stands still. Out from behind a few passersby jumps a bulky man, twice her size, running after the terrified maiden.

For a moment all sanity is lost. His hating the world at large, all of it. The girl is Sofia, he's sure, and she's being chased by a nefarious character down a side alley.

" _S-S-STOP_ There, I command you to stop!" Not sure how, Cedric's chased after them, wand drawn. The man turns, laughing openly at Cedric's challenge. He can now see this ruffian has the woman by the wrist, twisting her painfully. It ignites a rage within him.

"This girl owes me, and I'm gonna collect. Now scram."

A flash of the girl's sapphire eye, and Cedric loses himself to the moment. " _BOMBARDO_!"

The behemoth is powerless before the might of Cedric's spell, and goes crashing into a pile of manure at the end of the alley.

Stunned, the girl turns from looking at the unconscious pursuer, toward him.

It's not Sofia, but the girl he'd met in town the day prior to his beloved's wedding. The lady of the night. Hoping he can turn and run is useless, for the girl has recognized him, somehow, despite the unkindly march of time on Cedric's features.

"Wow, thanks! I didn't expect to see you here." Unfortunately, there's little he can do to shake the girl, and so he sits, gnawing on something the girl offered from her pocket, on the outskirts of town.

"I guess you can figure out what I 'owed' him, huh?" Embarrassed, she looks down and away.

"I thought it better not to ask." To that the girl giggles. Again, it's not Sofia's pleasant laugh, and the pain is real once more.

"Yeah, well, I do have some limits. My personal safety, and all." Shyly she pulled at her skirt. It appears all people wish to maintain some dignity, no matter their profession.

"If it is dangerous, why do you do it?"

Sadly, the girl drops her head, "I don't know how to do anything else, actually. I've been doing this since I was twelve."

The number shocks him. "Twelve, did you say?" She nods. Cedric's mind races back to Sofia at that age, her youthful exuberance was concerned with flying derby and dragon riding, not the perils of life on the fringes of society. A great sympathy rears up within him, that this girl was a victim of circumstance, not a moral pariah. Perhaps she too never had anyone who believed in her.

"Did you ever think of doing something else, then? If entertaining men is not to your liking, that is."

"Well I always wanted to be a seamstress, but who'd ever hire me."

Who indeed. He resolves to try, and extends his hand out to the girl. Extracting her from Kaldoun is the first step, and the journey to Enchancia and Madame Coelettes home in Dunwitty the next. "Now's the perfect day to start."

Stunned, the girl agrees to accompany him back to Enchancia. Perhaps it's the men who haunt her in Kaldoun, perhaps she really does want a fresh start. Whatever it is, he's now traveling with this woman, and the words will not cease. At least Sofia knew how he appreciated silence.

When they finally arrive, Cedric knocks on the door. Madame Collette does open the door, and Cedric introduces the girl as a distant cousin in need of work. Far from being shunned, as he anticipated, Collette looks at him with great sadness, a heavy heart weighing her down. Confused, he takes heart in that this girl now has a refuge, and a skill to learn. With that, he turns, to leave this place and it's memories far behind.

"Wait!" It's the woman. "I can't believe you did that. For me. Thank you." He hasn't smiled in months, but almost did. "You're a really descent guy. I really hope that it worked out with that girl you liked." His heart sinks as his shoes do into the newly fallen snow. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did it, not work out?"

"It's not your fault, particularly. I can blame most everyone else I've ever met, but not you specifically."

"You're funny." She giggles as she says it. "Hey, is this the kingdom you're from? Oh, do you know the princess from here? I think her name is... Scarlett, no that's not it, Sarah maybe? No…"

Pulse quickening, he feels the blood drain from his extremities.

"Sofia."

"Yeah, that's the one! I heard she left her husband and came back here, and that she went into labor days ago, but there's been no news of a baby. Everyone's… worried? Are you okay?" He'd risen, panicked. Sofia was suffering, horribly. He needed to get there, fast.

It's all a blur of running and winded breaks until he reaches the castle gates. The guards are less than pleased to see him, but it is Miranda, who looks like she's walked through a war zone, pushing through to grab him. "Oh Cedric, it's you. We've been looking everywhere for you."

Now that he's here, he has no idea how to help the girl. Is he even capable? His confidence shattered from months of self-loathing, Miranda drags him up stairs, into Sofia's old room. This isn't right, he reasons, why would she have her child here. A different kingdom claims her now, a different family.

Past a pasty Amber and frustrated James, scores of nursemaids shuffle back and forth. Miranda's hair is down. She's practically disheveled, and beyond, through a crack in the door he can see a bed with a sole occupant inside.

"Cedric, please. We've no one else to turn to, she won't take any of the medicine they've given her. Even your father hasn't been able figure out what's going on. It's like, no one can get through to her."

There is no sight of Goodwin, but Cedric can scarcely focus, noting that despite the worried hum of servants Sofia lies relatively motionless on the bed, facing away. There is no screaming, no sounds that one would expect from childbirth. There is also no sign of the _other,_ her husband.

Something is gravely wrong.

"Please Cedric, save her." Miranda's eyes are upon him, pleading for the very life of her child. Amber and James have come up too, their despondent stares a dark indication that lots of love and attention has been devoted to a problem none of them were able to fix.

* * *

As he enters her childhood bedchamber, the servants bundle up spoiled linens, leaving them a sacred space of privacy.

' _She's lost a lot of blood'_. He notes, wishing he hadn't. But his father would know the cure for that, surely. It must be, something else.

Stepping closer, he begins to hear her breathing. Labored, but not terribly so, given the circumstances.

He could scarcely look at her before, but now, seeing her in this state, he's overwhelmed with anger. That her husband could do this to her, then simply abandon her in this hour of need, fills him with righteous indignation.

Softly he sits on the edge of her bed. The mattress quakes, and she must know someone is there. Still, she doesn't move.

Now is not the time for his feelings, he reasons. She may very well die, unless he determines what specifically is wrong.

"Sofia."

She stopped breathing. Not a promising start. Purposefully she pulls her hair forward, covering the side of her face he could possibly see. Her ring, he notes, lies on the table adjacent them, alongside several expertly crafted brews, stored in Goodwin's signature vials. Slowly he reaches over, picking up the ring in his hands, realizing that pregnant women do remove such things from time to time. There's nothing to make of it, is there?

"You were right." Her voice sounds alien to him. Gone is the fanciful idealism of youth. In its wake, a hallowed out woman was left behind. "It does match my eyes. But not my heart."

Soft tears fall onto her pillow, as Cedric leans over her, pushing back the stray hairs. She cannot look at him, this much he knows, and shame washes over him.

"Your… heart. You chose him, as your husband. He must…"

"I never loved him." Again, she breaks out into a fit of sobs. He's no idea how to comfort her, and settles for letting his hand traipse across her hair. "I wish I'd never loved anyone!" Half sobbing, half yelling, she curls up as best she could, overcome with a contraction. He can see her entire body react to the movement.

"Did you…" He can't bear to ask. All these months of convincing himself no one cared, but he suppresses it. She's dying, it's all too clear. "Did you love me, Sofia? For I…"

"Don't you dare tell me you cared about me at all!" Gripping the blankets, it's the strongest reaction he's seen her make. Even then, it's a shadow of what she'd been capable of. "You wouldn't even speak to me."

"And what was I supposed to say Sofia? Thanks for the afternoon? Here let me just serve you my heart on a platter and watch you devour it, then languish as you traipse off into the night with _him_ , leaving me forever behind?!"

It wasn't what he'd meant to say, but it had been said, and the sobbing continued, unabated. "No Sofia, wait. Please stop. I don't want to hurt you. That was never my goal."

"Then what was it? I was just an opportunity, wasn't I?"

How she could lie there, and accuse him of such a thing when he'd been the one used, was infuriating. "I'm not the one who married a man I don't love, now am I Sofia?" His anger abated by her tears, he sunk lower, down to her level and whispered softly to her. "How could you marry him, Sofia? Didn't you know that I… that I loved you."

She groans. Another contraction comes over her before she manages out, "You did?"

"Of course I did; didn't you notice how your nuptials were tearing me apart? And now… now there's this." He let his hand drift slowly over her belly, feeling the life that flowed within it. The baby was okay, despite the prolonged labor. "I've spent so many nights, wondering, if this, if _they_ will have your eyes."

"But what if… they're brown." He could feel his own heartbeat in his chest, throbbing into his very ears.

Her husband had green eyes.

Sofia's were blue.

Not that he was an expert in such things, but a child born to parents with that combination should never produce a brown-eyed child.

A whole stream of conscious thought barreled into him as Sofia sobbed. "I never wanted any of this. All I wanted was the life I had, with adventures and fun and my Amulet. Everything's wrong, everything's horrible, I wish I'd never agreed to marry Desmond. I wish, I wish…"

"I know."

His words stopped her sobs, and with great pains she managed to lift her head up. "What?"

"I know, Sofia. I was obvious you didn't love him, and I wanted for you, to have that which you loved. I did try to return the Amulet of Avalor to you, but your father stopped me."

"But I thought that the potion made you crazy. That's why what happened in the clearing, happened."

An exasperated sigh, and Cedric reached out, taking her weary head into his lap, finally letting all the sadness and pain flow out. "My father created that particular lie, to secure my release. I saw no point in correcting him, for you had already…" His hand found its way to her belly once more. "You had already, forsaken me."

"Oh no. Never. Cedric, I…" Pawing at him, the pain washed over her once more. "I loved you."

It's overwhelming, and for a moment he forgets the urgency of the situation. Her head pressed squarely into his chest, he savors the smell of her hair, the feel of her heartbeat alongside hers.

"All this time… is the child mine, Sofia?"

"I don't know." Is whispered, the great secret she's been keeping hidden from the world finally let go. "The day I got married, right after I realized you weren't going to come and stop this, I started feeling awful, and it just got worse as the day went on. When we got to his palace, I just couldn't let him touch me. It was weeks before I let him." It was more than he could bear, and thankfully she stopped. "But I just don't know, and that makes me feel so, incredibly, horribly guilty. I'm a horrible person. I wish I could take it all back. I wish."

She's overcome again, and the urgency of the situation falls on him. Taking her sternly in his hands, he begs her, "Sofia, none of that matters now. We'll figure out what to do, once you and the baby are safe."

He manages to coax several concoctions down her throat, and the obvious pain she's feeling subsides. Color returns to her cheeks, as does strength. "I've been afraid." She confides. "Afraid that it wasn't Desmond's baby, because it would hurt him so badly, his parents died right after we got married and I just felt so bad. I thought that I'd let everyone down, that I'd be shunned. But…"

"But what?"

"But, I finally realized that I was more afraid, that it _was_ his."

The magnitude of that statement, and all it implied weight heavily on him. Her return to Enchancia, though heavy with child, the ring on the table. She meant to be free of this loveless marriage, but would never be free of the man, should the child be his.

"It'll be okay, somehow. Sofia please, you just have to do this."

Servants return, now that things are moving in earnest. Sofia's head is still against his chest, as the baby's progress is checked. Miranda returns, focused on her daughter but stealing sideways glances at the sorcerer, knowing all too well that the manner in which her daughter clings to the sorcerer is more than simply platonic.

"You have to live, Sofia. Please. I beg you." He whispers it, over and over again as she struggles through this, rage that her husband is nowhere to be found fomenting inside him.

That boy must know, on some level, that she was never his. All along, her heart belonged to Cedric.

* * *

Cries ring out, and a newly formed life is welcomed into the world. Relief disseminates as messengers race out of the castle, spreading the good news to those waiting near and far.

Never once did he let her go, but now Miranda, holding the most precious of possessions bends over, trying to hand the baby to Sofia.

She can't take it, and worriedly, Miranda circles around, afraid to pressure the girl. "Here, Cedric, do you want to hold her?"

"Her?" It's a girl. The baby is napping now, understandable considering the ordeal it's been through, and reluctantly Cedric lets the small vulnerable creature be laid into his arms.

"I'll give you two a minute." Miranda sighs a with a relieved but heavy heart, then closes the doors behind them.

The room now silent, Cedric gazes down at the sleeping babe. The spitting image of Sofia, he reasons. Yes, it has roundish sort of cheeks, but any babe would. Its head is covered, and suddenly he's filled with dread. More so than just a fear of dropping the fragile little thing.

No, the question lingers. Does it have blonde hair?

"I can't look." Sofia whispers, breathlessly. As tormented as he's been for these past months, he realizes it's nothing compared to the torture she's been inflicting upon herself.

Summoning every last ounce of courage, he gently slides back the blanket, revealing a bald scalp.

"She's no hair yet, Sofia."

"Are her eyes…."

"She's sleeping. Perhaps, you should do the same." Nodding, Sofia curls up as best she can, and drifts off while Cedric strokes her back softly.

The strangeness of it all doesn't escape him. He finds himself actually wishing by some miracle that the child was his, though he'd never wanted children. If it would spare her a lifetime of regret and afford her the dissolution of a loveless marriage, it's a burden he would gladly shoulder.

But the husband lingers over his thoughts, that newly-crowned King whose claimed her as his own. Will he let her go?

He'll make the whelp set her free, he reasons. With all the strength in him, if he can save a peasant maid from a ruffian, he can save his love from the timid man whom dared to claim her.

Still, it's a pleasant sight, and thoughts he's barely dared to dream have come true. Though ephemeral they feel, Sofia sleeps in his lap, exhausted. Not just her, ' _his girls_ ' are asleep in his lap. Does it even truly matter who the child's father is? Not to him, he reasons. He could perhaps cast some spells to ensure the child is mistaken for his own, in the event _the other_ tries to reclaim them. He doesn't want to do this, though. To scheme and manipulate his way into Sofia's heart. No, he wants her love, and the love of this small babe, more passionately than he's wanted anything before. He could be what they need. He's already proven himself in his love's most desperate hour. The king even showered him with praise before Miranda shooed him away. "I'll be anything you need, Sofia, just please choose me this time."

* * *

Now, in the stillness of the afternoon, a sharper image of these past few months comes into focus. She's lived here for weeks, perhaps months. He even chides himself, perhaps if he'd obeyed some of the king's commands of late, delayed his firing, that she'd have returned. That he'd have known how unhappy she was in marriage, and avoided this, the closest of calls.

Tap tap.

The door creaks open, ever so slightly, to reveal the man, the _other_. Cedric clutches the child to his chest, defensive of that which this _king_ would take.

"Um, how is my wife?" The words sting, and the grit of his teeth makes the timid boy retreat a few steps.

"She's alive, as is the baby." An audible sigh of relief comes from the boy, and he steps forward, eager to hold the child.

It can't end like this, and Cedric clings to the babe, still snoozing, "Stop right there, you, _miserable man_ you." Desmond stops, confused.

"What?"

"How dare you, how dare you come here, now, to interfere with her healing. Out with you now, out." Ever in life he has shirked away, cowering from more powerful men. This time, however, his resolve is steeled. He has to do this now, for Sofia cannot.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know very well she is unhappy. If you care for her at all, you'll release her."

"Release her? She's my wife, not my prisoner. Now, let me see my daughter, please." He pulls away from the boy's grasp. Until Sofia awakens, he is the guardian of this child, and shan't surrender her, lest the dream die, and he lose them both. The commotion jostles his arm ever so slightly, rousing the sleeping babe.

The baby girl opens her beautiful eyes, for all to see. Such sparkling blue eyes she has; he's seen but one set like them. They match Sofia's, he reasons. Not brown in the slightest.

"No." louder now, he prays that, somehow, this man would simply disappear. That his sight betrayed him, and instead the child's eyes were brown.

"Awe, she looks like my mother, bless her departed soul." The _other_ is peering over, cooing at the child before glancing at the sleeping woman on Cedric's lap. "I hope she'll snap out of it now. She's been acting so weird since my parents died."

"How dare you" Cedric growls, "The girl pities your loss, and you've parlayed that into entrapment, it's obscene."

Desmond looks shocked. Cedric can't reveal the extent of his involvement, can he? It wouldn't be fair to Sofia. No, she'd practically killed herself to protect this secret. It would be unspeakably cruel to unleash it now, when she's at her most vulnerable.

But perhaps, it's all he has. The child has blue eyes, and her husband sees this as his child.

The hopes he had fade fast, as Sofia rouses. " _Shhh_ , please sleep, Sofia." She's awake, and desperation creeps up. Massive fears shoot through his mind, the demons scream for him to flee, for he knows, deep down, that this is the moment of no return. The _other_ can provide for her. He can lavish all this world has to offer on her baby, and Cedric has nothing.

Sofia will choose the father of her child, any woman would.

And the child has blue eyes.

"Desmond?" Bleary eyed, she tries to lift off Cedric's lap, breaking his heart in the process. He's still holding the child, but he's no longer welcome in their private family moment, is he? The birth of this man's child, not his after all.

With a heavy heart, he turns to hand the babe to Sofia. It's fully awake now, his meager attempts to lull it back to sleep utter failures. Inserted into her arms, Sofia gazes down at the small, irreplaceable creature, and starts crying.

He'd meant to flee, but can't while she's like this. The _other_ backs away, "Oh no, not this again." Cedric feels as though he might breath fire at the boy, and leaps from the bed.

"That's ENOUGH! She practically died to bring that child into this world, and you've not the least bit of sympathy for her struggle. Out I tell you, _OUT_!"

Shocked, the room falls silent save for the small human, still crying.

"Cedric."

He cannot bear to turn and face her, to be told his help is no longer needed and dismissed out of hand. Instead, he snaps his eyes shut and stands, unmoving. "Cedric, can you get me some yogurt, I'm really hungry, and I need to talk to Desmond, alone. It's time."

He's being dismissed, in as kind a way as she could find. There is no dignity to be had, no subtle conciliation prize to be won, but he has not the strength to leave.

"You're divorcing me, aren't you?"

It came from the boy.

Stunned, Cedric looks up, and the _other_ is at the window, staring out, hands fallen to his sides. "I don't want to give up Sofia, I really don't, but I just don't know what to do to make you happy."

Cedric stands awkwardly in the middle of this, the death of a marriage. This should be a happy time, he reasons, the birth of a first child. Instead, he's ruined this for her, with his selfish wants that hung this cloud of doubt over her this entire time. Perhaps he should have listened, and departed when asked.

"It's not you Desmond, it's me. I got married for the wrong reasons. I'm sorry, but it's never going to work."

The nerves he'd felt give way to a complete and utter relief, the likes of which he'd never known.

Cedric turns to her, unable to gloat at his triumph and weighted down by the sorrow of this situation, he can only muster, "Yogurt, yes, I'll return in moments Sofia. Wait for me."

It tears him to shreds to leave them there, alone, but he must. There are details of their life that need untangling.

* * *

That night the _other_ leaves. A great sigh of relief escapes as his coach pulls away. Sofia isn't free, not yet at least. She may never be. It is a kingdom he rules, and nestled in Sofia's arms is the sole heir to that crown.

But for now, she is here. Laying up against him, the babe dozing softly in a cradle beside them. "You don't have to stay; I won't make you."

It startles the man, to his core. Slowly the beautiful girl turns upward, toward him. "I understand, I hurt you, and if... if you don't love me anymore, you don't have to stay. I'll be fine. I will. I-"

Perhaps he shouldn't have, but catching her lips in his, he hopes to quell the doubts that lingered within her. When finally he pulls away the stunned girl looks up, hope lingering in her eyes. "Then, I wished with all my heart to speak the words, Sofia, and all these months apart I have been adrift, lost to even myself. So believe me now when I say, ever shall I love you, my compass, the healer of my soul."

It will be alright, he reasons. They were but two broken souls, ever in need of the salvation that can come from simply being true to one's heart.


End file.
